Chapter Three: Deliverance

“The days are dark, and there is no hope in Men, for the Faithful are few. Therefore I am minded to try that counsel which our forefather Eärendil took of old, to sail into the West, be there ban or no, and to speak to the Valar, even to Manwë himself, if may be, and beseech his aid ere all is lost.” 'Would you then betray the King?' said Elendil. 'For you know well the charge that they make against us, that we are traitors and spies, and that until this day it has been false.' 'If I thought that Manwë needed such a messenger,' said Amandil, 'I would betray the King. For there is but one loyalty from which no man can be absolved in heart for any cause. But it is for mercy upon Men and their deliverance from Sauron the Deceiver that I would plead, since some at least have remained faithful.” ~The Silmarillion, Akallabêth

6th of Víresse in the Year 3316 of the Second Age, King’s Reckoning:

When they reached the entrance to the cleft a short time later, Abârôn saw that a figure now stood there where he was certain none had been before. He was even taller than Salmar, with long braided brown hair and azure eyes. He was dressed in a white tunic and sky blue tabard that had an eagle emblazoned in silver thread on the chest. At his belt hung a saber with a large sapphire set into its pommel. There was a moment of silence in which Salmar and this newcomer stared at each other, seeming to converse without words.

Then Salmar’s shoulders slumped, and the stranger turned to Lord Amânzîr and gave a short bow.

“Namárië Núnatani.Nanyë Eönwë, núro Manwëo,” he said in a musical baritone.

“Not all of them speak Quenya, Eönwë,” Salmar replied in Adûnaic, sounding tired.

“I see. I am Eönwë, a servant of Manwë. Well met,” he said in flawless Adûnaic.

Avalôbêl felt his mouth go dry as he realized that this was the Maia whom had lead Host of the Valar that his grandmother had told him stories about in his youth.

“You have been summoned by the Valar. I have been ordered to escort you to the Máhanaxar.”

“They are to stand in judgment?” Salmar asked, sounding concerned.  

“As are you,” Eönwë said, giving the other Maia a piercing glare. Salmar flinched and looked away. “It is a league to Calacirian and then another two leagues to the Máhanaxar. We must leave now if we are to reach it ere the Sun sets.”

The Maia turned and began walking towards the Calacirya, Salmar at his side, while the Men exchanged worried looks before hastening to follow them.

The Calacirya was narrow, only two furlongs or so wide. It was so deep that all within was shadowed, and noticeably cooler than the open shore had been in the heat of the afternoon Sun. The river flowed along its southern edge and there was a road constructed of light grey stones that ran down its center. The highway was broad, about six rangar wide, and slightly curved so that water would drain into the channels on either side of it. They walked along it in silence, the only sound the whistling of wind through the canyon and the ceaseless rushing of the river.

Their pace was unhurried, and it took longer than Abârôn liked to reach the end of the ravine. He found the journey wearying, not because he was tired, but because no one spoke the entire way, too intimidated by Eönwë’s company. He was glad when they finally emerged from the gorge and stood before a vast plain that stretched as far as the eye could see. The river curved to follow the base of the mountains south of them, and several furlongs ahead was a large hill that Salmar said was called Túna.

Atop the emerald hill was a City whose white towers and terraced walls gleamed in the sunlight. Stairs that appeared to be made of white crystal ascended to a pair of large gates near the top. Túna was surrounded by a patchwork of farmland dotted with stone houses and barns. The fields were full of knee-high green wheat and the orchards were white with blossoms, the sweet scent of which carried on the wind. Yet, though Avalôbêl saw livestock grazing and smoke rising from chimneys, he could see no one about. He wondered at that, for surely such a City must be home to thousands.

Eönwë turned to him and said, “Today is Valanya, the High Day. None of the Eldar perform work on this day. It is set aside for rest and for giving praise to Eru for the gifts he bestows. This is why you do not see anyone. Most spend the High Day at home with family and it is nearing time for the evening meal.”

“But it is Eärenya, not Valanya,” Avalôbêl objected weakly.

Though Eönwë spoke in Andûnaic, he interspersed it with words Avalôbêl did not know but suspected were in Quenya. Like most of the Elendili, Avalôbêl had been secretly taught to speak Sindarin as a child, yet only the Nobles of Andúnië still taught their children how to speak Quenya. What little he knew of the language came from the many things in Númenór that were still called by their ancient Quenya names, even after King Ar-Adûnakhôr banned its speaking centuries ago.

“I know that in Númenórë you have seven days in a week but the Eldar have only six. That is why today is Valanya,” Salmar explained.

“Tis a fair City,” Amânzîr said softly, gazing at the largest tower rising from the Hill.

“Aye, Tirion has always been thus. Yet it has little more than half of the population it had before the majority of the Noldor fled to Endórë,” Eönwë said sadly. “But we must head this way.” The Maia pointed up ahead to where the road diverged.

If they continued straight the road they were on would take them directly to Tirion. The south road ran along the Pelóri to what looked like a distant forest. The one next to it continued southwest across the farmland, disappearing into the distance. The north road followed the Pelóri toward what appeared to be the foot of a mountain and what that looked like another city. Yet the six of them took the road that cut northwest through the grass strewn plain and led to something that looked like a broad hill, more flat and not so high as Túna.

“Lad,” Avalôbêl said quietly to Abârôn, “What do you see? These old eyes are not as keen as they used to be.”

Thought Avalôbêl he had spoken softly, so as not to be overheard, it was Salmar who answered him. “The mound that rises from the plain is the Ezellohar, where the Two Trees used to grow. The city of Valmar is beside it.” Salmar’s tone became ominous. “…and between them is the Máhanaxar.”

They walked in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Azruzôr’s tunic had dried by the time they were close enough to see that the City of the Valar was built in a square, encased in walls of pale grey stone, flecked with silver. A short while later the Sun began to set, causing the golden roofs of the houses to shine. The Men paused in surprise as suddenly hundreds of bells began to chime. They continued for some time, and Abârôn thought that there was a melody to them, too complex for him to fully grasp.

“They are signaling the end of the day,” Eönwë answered the unspoken question when the last bell finally ceased pealing. “Salmar, you ought to change.”

His fellow Maia nodded. Then, several heartbeats later, he was suddenly wearing something similar to Eönwë. He was now dressed in a white tunic with a Sea green tabard, the chest of which was emblazoned with a cresting wave in silver thread. Smiling at the Men’s astonishment, he explained that the clothes were not real, but merely a part of his fana, and could be changed at will. Eönwë bade them continue, and they followed the road as it passed between the Ezellohar and the western gold wrought gates of Valmar.

A furlong to the west, at the foot of the Ezellohar, was the Máhanaxar. They left the road, which continued northwest past the hill and the City, and headed toward the Ring of Doom.

The ground inside the Ring was made of a single piece of polished black granite and fourteen thrones were arrayed around it, carved from what appeared to be white marble. In them sat tall and noble figures, their fair faces impassive as statues. Those who sat in the northern half of the Ring were Lords, while those in the southern half were Ladies. All wore plain mithril circlets on their brows, save for the two that sat nearest to Valmar. Their thrones were raised on a small dais, and the Lord had a star sapphire set in his circlet while the Lady had a diamond in hers.

The Lords wore ankle-length, cross-collared robes that were plain in weave and unadorned by broidery, yet dyed more vividly than any the Men had ever seen. The Ladies wore high-collared gowns, also brilliantly colored, but their beauty was such that they were hard to look upon directly. As they approached the Ring, Abârôn’s stomach clenched and he had to fight the impulse to flee. They stopped just outside the circle, before the two whom sat on the raised thrones. Abârôn stared at the ground to avoid looking at anyone, and thought it queer that the Valar were barefoot.

The Herald of Manwë gestured for Lord Amânzîr to enter the Máhanaxar and he did so, back straight and shoulders squared. Upon reaching the center of the Ring he bowed low to the Lord of the West and knelt before him, keeping his eyes on the hem of Elder King’s robe that was dyed the blue of summer skies. Abârôn was surprised when he felt Avalôbêl clasp his shoulder and squeeze it; nevertheless, he was glad of the comfort it brought. He swallowed several times and prayed that he would not be sick.

“What is your name, Child?” The Elder King asked in Quenya. He had a rich tenor that reminded Amânzîr of the deep peal of some of the bells they had just heard. Amânzîr dared to look up and saw that Lord Manwë had long, honey-brown hair and eyes the same blue as his robe.

“I am Amandil Númendilion the 18th Lord of Andûnië, Herunúmen.” Amânzîr said. “My companions are my Nephew, Ëarnáron Elentirion and my servants, Valandil Nárëndilion and Voronwë Mírwëion.”

“Why do you come here, Child? Why have you violated the command that has been laid upon your people?” The Lord of Mandos asked in a deep baritone, and Amânzîr flinched, though his tone was mild.

“I am here to beseech your aid on behalf of my people, Herunya,” he said, forcing himself to look directly into Lord Námo’s grey eyes. The Vala’s hair and robe were black and he was frowning slightly.

“In what would you have us aide you, Child?” The Star Kindler’s voice was like the tinkle of wind chimes, silvery as the dress she wore. Her hair was raven and her eyes the deepest of blues, and Amânzîr had never seen anyone so beautiful.

“It is for mercy upon Men and their deliverance from Sauron the Deceiver that I would entreat, Herinya.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the Elder King spoke once more. “Stand up, Child. We would hear your plea—but not from one who is on his knees.”

Amânzîr blinked in surprise and hesitated. Lord Ulmo, who was seated to the right of Lord Manwë, gave him a nod with a small encouraging smile. The Lord of Waters’ eyes were the blue green of the Sea, as was his robe. Amânzîr noticed that there were shells of different colors braided into his silver hair and beard. He stood slowly, giving the Valar a brief bow before straightening again. He took a deep breath to steel himself, determined not to fail after having come so far, then began the speech he had dwelt upon for months.

Glossary

 “Namárië Núnatani. Nanyë Eönwë, núro Manwëo (Quenya): ‘Greetings Men of the West. I am Eönwë, servant of Manwë’.  Namárië can be used both as a greeting and as a farewell, like ‘Shalom’ in Hebrew. ‘Núnatani’ is a cognate of the Sindarin ‘Dúnedain’.

Máhanaxar (Valarin): ‘Ring of Doom’. This where the Valar would gather to hold councils and pass judgment.

Calacirian (Quenya): a region of Eldamar near the entrance to the ravine of Calacirya. The hill of Túna stood there with the city of Tirion built upon it.

Furlong (English): a measure of distance in equal to one-eighth of a mile or 660 feet. It originally referred to the length as the distance a team of oxen could plough without resting, which is one furrow in one acre of a ploughed field. 

Rangar (Quenya): a measure of length used by the Númenóreans and their descendants in Middle-earth. One ranga was defined as the length of the stride of a man walking at ease or 38 inches.

Elendili (Quenya) ‘Elf Friends’. Those Númenórëans who remained faithful to the Valar and maintained their friendship with the Elves.

Endórë (Quenya): ‘Middle-Earth’. An older form of the world ‘Endor’.

“…took the road that went northwest.”:  Tolkien didn’t make any maps of Valinor, unfortunately. I’ve seen many maps that are artists’ interpretations of what Aman would look like based on descriptions given in the Professor’s writings but they all lack something (like an accurate scale). I’ve decided to place Taniquetil (and Valmar) north of the Calacirya while most maps I’ve seen place it south of the gap.

Ezellohar (Vanyarin): ‘Green Mound’. The hill before the western gates of Valmar upon which Two Trees of Valinor grew. Also called Corollairë.

Fana (Quenya): The ‘raiment’ in which the Valar and Maiar self-incarnate. The word ‘fana’ is related to the word for ‘veil’ or ‘cloud’ as fanar are not real in the same way the bodies of true incarnates (i.e. Men and Elves) are.

Amandil Númendilion (Quenya): ‘Amandil son of Númendil’. The Quenya form of Amânzîr’s name.

Herunúmen (Quenya): ‘Lord of the West’. One of the titles of Manwë.

Ëarnáron Elentirion (Quenya): ‘Ëarnáron son of Elentir’. The Quenya form of Azruzôr’s name.

Valandil Nárëndilion (Quenya): ‘Valandil son of Nárëndil’. The Quenya form of Avalôbêl’s name.

Voronwë Mírwëion (Quenya): ‘Voronwë son of Mírwë’. The Quenya form of Avalôbêl’s name

Herunya(Quenya): ‘My lord’.

Vala (Quenya): the singular ofValar. Usually refers to the male Valar.

Herinya (Quenya): ‘My lady’.